


The North Star

by Ironfrost



Series: delusions of grandeur [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, because i can never write fics without angst apparently, modern!AU, tw: mentions of abusive childhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:14:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ironfrost/pseuds/Ironfrost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Prouvaire: The Origin<br/>or; How Jehan walked straight into Courfeyrac and then stumbled across Les Amis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After writing about Enjolras/Grantaire and Feuilly/Bahorel, I decided it was time to try my hand writing about these two. Which ended up being a lot more chapters than I anticipated, but there you go. 
> 
> As always, I strongly encourage you to drop by barrikade.tumblr.com to say hello or yell at me for promptly ignoring what is canon and what is not.

Never in his life has Jean Prouvaire tried to fit into society's preconception of 'masculinity'.

He knew from an early age that he would never be like everyone else, no matter how hard he'd try. How could he be? He was much smaller than anyone else his age, playing football in the dirt did not hold the same interest for him as it did with the boys at his school, and as he grew older he realised he didn't even like girls the same way they did.

So, instead of pretending to be like the rest, he went in the opposite direction, deciding that he would always be himself, no matter the consequences. And there are quite a lot of consequences of being a small boy with freckles and long hair braided with flowers and ribbons, who always dresses like he has robbed the clearance bin at a thrift shop, who quotes poetry in the middle of conversations, and blushes for no reason. But that never mattered to him. He was Jehan, a poet, and he learned early on that bravery was his only defence in the world. 

No one could ever make sense of that Prouvaire boy, so after a while they gave up on him, labelling him as some sort of defective weirdo. And Jehan didn't care. He embraced the fact that he would always be an outcast, and took all the ridicule and mocking with his head held high and his cheeks burning. Being the school's punching bag never really bothered him, because, after all, what did these children know about anything?

What he couldn't take, however, was his father's disappointment in him. Mr Provaire would tell Jehan that the last thing he wanted was another daughter, and often threw condescending and hurtful comments Jehan's way. His father was an alcoholic, and a mean one at that. He lashed out at Jehan whenever he could, and Jehan would never say anything, not even when the abuse turned physical. Jehan never said a word. Even though he had long ago accepted that he would always be a constant source of disappointment to his father, he knew deep down that there wasn't anything wrong with him, there was something wrong with everyone else.

Because there is nothing wrong with being yourself. 

 

When the time comes to think about a higher education, Jehan does the only logical thing: He moves to the other side of the country, enrolling at a university with a strong literature programme that puts as much geographical distance between him and his past as possible. Poetry had been there for him when no one else had, and Jehan wants nothing more than to write pages upon pages of verse lines in hopes of that one day his poetry can help someone the same way it had helped him.

He cuts his father out of his life when he moves, but that doesn't mean he's rid of him. Jehan often has nightmares, and will wake in the middle of the night with tears on his face and his father's voice still ringing in his ears. 

'I wish you were never born.'

His father's voice never really disappears.

 

One morning towards the end of his first year, Jehan is so immersed in the book he's reading that he forgets to look up when turning a corner and walks straight into another person. His bag falls down, and all the contents spills out onto the floor.

Jehan mutters an apology and bends down to pick up his belongings. The boy just laughs.

“No major bodily harm done,” he says while helping Jehan pick up the rest. When Jehan gets up, he gets a look of who he managed to walk into, and suddenly forgets how to breathe. The boy is quite tall, slim, with dark, slightly curled hair, and hazel eyes that seems to shine green in the sunlight. He's wearing a short-sleeved button up and a frankly ridiculous bow tie. He has a round face made for smiling, and Jehan gets an urge to write endless poems about it. 

He finally realises that he's staring, but the other boy doesn't seem to notice, as he is busy staring back. Jehan is used to being stared at, but this is different somehow. There is a fluttering feeling awakening in the pit of his stomach, a sensation he is not familiar with. He has seen this boy around campus before. Always smiling, always happy, always with a new man on his arm. Jehan decides that the fluttering feeling needs to go, because there is no need for him to start pining over a boy whose attention apparently couldn't be held by the same person for more than a week.

The staring is starting to make Jehan uncomfortable.

“Could I have my books back please?” he asks in a low voice, wanting to get away.

The boy looks down, seemingly surprised that his arms are full of books that do not belong to him.

“Oh, of course. Sorry,” he says, handing them over. Their hands brush for a second, and the fluttering intensifies. Jehan blushes while hating his treacherous body at that moment. The boy smiles at him, and looks at the book Jehan had been reading.

“Keats? He a...poet, right?” he asks, cocking his head.

“Yes. My favourite actually,” Jehan answers. He has no idea why he felt the need to say that.

“Huh. I've never really liked poetry. Too wishy-washy for me,” the boy says. Jehan doesn't know what to say, so he shrugs.

“What's your name?” the boy asks.

“Jean. Or Jehan, if you will,” Jehan says, blushing even more profusely, hating himself. 'Stop it,' he thinks to himself sternly.

“Jean or Jehan, if I will,” he says, laughter barely concealed in his voice. 'Oh great, he's mocking me. That's new,' Jehan thinks. “I'm Courfeyrac.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jehan mutters. Courfeyrac's eyes gleams.

“You too,” he says. “Try and be more careful the next time you round a corner, yeah? Although I wouldn't mind bumping into you again.”

Jehan, unable to process the last part of the sentence, only says: “I'll be more careful.”

“Good. Don't want you to get hurt.” Courfeyrac looks at his watch. “Oh, now look what you have done, I'm almost late for my audition,” he says in a mock-stern voice. “I have to go Jean-Jehan. Wish me luck!”

With that, he bounces away. Jehan is left dumbfounded, not really knowing what just happened.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I'm not terribly concerned about stuff like "chapter length". I just break the story into a new chapter when I'm about to fall asleep in front of my laptop.

Jehan doesn't see Courfeyrac for a couple of weeks after that. He tries to convince himself that he's not looking for him, but somehow his mind has mutinied against him, and everytime he sees someone with dark hair his heart skips a beat.

He scolds himself everytime it happens, because there is no reason to act like this. He doesn't even know Courfeyrac. What he does know for sure about him is that Courfeyrac is the kind of person who changes boyfriends at the same rate other people change their socks. And that his smile is the most wonderous thing Jehan has ever seen. And that he could get lost in those hazel eyes. 

Jehan also knows that there are now several notebooks in his dorm room full of half-written poems about Courfeyrac. And he absolutely hates it. He hates how after meeting him only once, Courfeyrac managed to get under his skin like this. He hates feeling vulnerable. And Courfeyrac definitely makes him feel vulnerable. 

'It's because you're a pathetic excuse for a man,' his father's voice echoes somewhere in the back of Jehan's head. 

 

There is a rally happening on campus one afternoon when Jehan is crossing the park after school. If the shouting is any indication, someone is protesting something. There is always some sort of protest going on, and Jehan doesn't really take any notice of it until he's aware of someone shouting his name.

“Jehan!” 

He looks up, and Courfeyrac is waving at him in the middle of the crowd.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Courfeyrac says when he comes over. Jehan finally takes in the displeased crowd. Many of them are holding signs.

“What's going on?” Jehan asks.

“We're protesting against the cafeteria food prices,” Courfeyrac answers. “There is no need for that tasteless goo to be as expensive as it is.”

Jehan looks at Courfeyrac. “This is your protest?” He hadn't pegged Courfeyrac as a person who would care about these sort of things. 

Courfeyrac shrugs a little, and nods his head towards a blonde boy standing on a podium, speaking fervently. “As with most protests this is mostly the work of Enjolras, but I've done my fair share of planning it.”

Jehan knows who Enjolras is. Every student on campus knows who Enjolras is. He was always getting in some sort of trouble for protesting against anything that stood still long enough, and Jehan admired that.

“Today it's the cost of cafeteria food, tomorrow it's the world,” Courfeyrac says, smiling brilliantly.

“Well, the cafeteria food really is expensive,” Jehan says.

“Right? It's ridiculous. Dude, you should totally come to one of our meetings!” Courfeyrac says, practically radiating of enthusiasm. 

“You have meetings?” Jehan asks.

“Several times a week! Enjolras really wanted to have meetings every day, but we had to remind him that normal people have real lives to attend to. I don't really think he understands that, though.” 

Jehan laughs.

“Where are these meetings then?” Jehan asks.

“You know the Café Musain? We've sweet-talked the owner into letting us use the second floor when we need it. There is a meeting tomorrow at six. It's usually not a big crowd, it's mostly just us politely nodding at Enjolras' newest cause. You should come!”

Courfeyrac looks so hopeful, and even though Jehan gathers that it's probably just because Courfeyrac wants to get more people involved in their causes, he can't bring himself to say anything else than

“I'd love to.”

“Awesome!”

“Courfeyrac!” They both look at the podium where Enjolras is now staring at them.

“Coming!” Courfeyrac shouts back, before looking back at Jehan.

“See you tomorrow!”

And then he's gone again. Jehan realises he's still smiling, but can't really bring himself to care terribly much about that, because Courfeyrac wanted to see him again, tomorrow!

'See, I told you. Pathetic,' his father's voice continues.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was too busy with work to post anything yesterday, so this chapter is a bit longer to make up for that.

The next night, Jehan finds himself outside the Café Musain at a quarter to six. He nervously fidgets with his plait whilst looking at the facade. It's not like he dressed up for the occasion or anything, his favourite green jumper was just on the top of his dresser. Other than that he's wearing what he normally wears. Underneath the jumper he's wearing a blouse with a flower print, light blue trousers that stops around his ankles, and brown brogues. His hair is braided into a fishtail plait with a yellow ribbon and he has a tulip stuck behind his ear. The first tulip of the spring. Technically he didn't steal it, it was hanging outside of the fence of the garden he walked past, so it was his to take.

He straightens his jumper a bit, and walks up the stairs. He's trying to suppress the sudden surge of nervousness that is making his legs feel wobbly. Jehan is not great in social situations, and he knows it.

The door on the second floor is closed, but he hears voices inside. There is a note on the door fastened with a thumbtack, declaring a 'Les Amis l'ABC meeting at 6:00'. He pushes the door open.

There are about ten people in the room, and everyone stares at him as he enters. He recognises most of the faces as Enjolras' accomplices, but there are a few he's never seen before. He blushes, wishing he could hide from the stares.

“You came!” 

Like magic, Courfeyrac appears next to Jehan, grabbing his arm. “I'm so glad you did.”

“I said I would,” Jehan mutters. Courfeyrac's answering smile eases Jehan's nervousness a bit. Courfeyrac is, as usual, a vision, in a red t-shirt, fitted dark jeans that looks like they've never seen a wrinkle in their life, and wing-tipped shoes. 

Courfeyrac looks out into the room.

“Everyone, this is Jehan. Jehan, this is Les Amis l'ABC, where we are always just moments away from the next great revolution!”

Jehan offers a small wave and a mumble, and is greeted in return by a few nods and waves back. Courfeyrac spends the next fifteen minutes dragging Jehan around the room, introducing him to everyone. For every person he meets, Courfeyrac mumbles comments about them in Jehan's ear.

“That's Joly, don't sneeze anywhere near him, he'll have you put in a quarantene for two weeks.”  
“Bossuet, I swear, that man has the worst luck of anyone I've ever met.”  
“Combeferre. Looks like a boring old dad, but don't let that fool you, he's a serious badass.”  
“Grantaire. He mostly just drinks and argues with Enjolras. He's totally in love with him, and Enjolras is the only one who doesn't know it.”  
“Feuilly. Don't really know anything about him. Great guy, though. Drinks like a champion.”

The door opens again, and through it walks a huge chunk of man who looks like he's constantly waiting for the next fight to erupt. Jehan's sense of self-preservation takes over, and he is seriously considering running away, having had only too much experience with these types of people. He really doesn't feel like being beaten up and getting his favourite jumper all bloody. Again.

Courfeyrac looks towards the door.

“That's Bahorel. BAHOREL! Over here!”

The man stalks over, and Jehan tries not to shiver in fear.

“Bahorel, this is Jehan.”

Bahorel grins at him, and although the smile makes him look much less intimidating, he's still one of the scariest looking people Jehan has ever seen.

“So you're Jehan. Heard a lot about you, Courf has simply not been able to shut up.” He reaches out his hand, and Jehan shakes it gingerly.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper as Courfeyrac groans at Bahorel.

“Dude, be cool!”

Bahorel laughs and nudges Jehan. “He's crazy about you,” he stage-whispers in Jehan's ear, and walk over to the red-headed guy, Feuilly.

“Thank you Bahorel,” Courfeyrac says through gritted teeth. He looks at Jehan and laughs nervously.

“He's kidding, of course, I haven't...ENJOLRAS! You have to meet Jehan!”

Jehan is thoroughly lost as Courfeyrac drags Jehan by the arm over to their leader. Had Courfeyrac been talking about him to the others? And what did he mean about Courfeyrac being crazy about him? 'Probably nothing', Jehan thinks to himself. He's not a person anyone would be crazy about.

'Not true,' his fathers voice sneers. 'You've been driving me insane since you were born.'

Enjolras looks at Jehan with a calculating stare.

“Jehan here saw our rally yesterday,” Courfeyrac says while Enjolras continues to stare at him. “And he wouldn't stop pestering me about 'what a great cause and could he pretty please with sugar on top be a part of our group', so I had no choice but to let the poor guy in.”

Jehan looks at Courfeyrac with raised eyebrows. That's not how he remembers it happening. Enjolras scoffs, so Jehan figures this is just how Courfeyrac is.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Enjolras says before loudly clearing his voice. The chatter in the room quiets down, and everyone finds a seat.

“He likes you,” Courfeyrac whispers with a wink. He pushes Jehan down into a chair next to Bahorel and Feuilly, and drags another chair over to sit with them.

 

The topic of the evening was the results of yesterday's rally and their next cause: the student housings. Everyone agrees the standards are too low and the prices are too high. Everyone except Grantaire, who from the back of the room seems to have made it his personal mission to disagree with everything Enjolras says. He does have some good points, although Enjolras mostly ignores him, and continues like no one said anything.

“This would of course be more effective if we actually had someone who lived in the dorms, but since everyone here lives off-campus...”

Jehan looks up. “I live in the dorms,” he says quietly.

Enjolras looks at him. “What was that?”

Jehan blushes when the whole room shifts their attention to him.

“I'm in my first year, so I don't have a choice, but... I live in the dorms,” he says again, a little louder.

Enjolras just stares at him for a while.

“Well, that's great!” he says severely. “We need someone on the inside, someone who can vouch for the lacking standards.”

“Are the showers still as dreadful as I remember them to be?” Bossuet asks. Jehan nods.

“They're terrible. There is no water pressure, and there is never enough hot water.”

“I'm pretty sure one can get syphilis just from being in the same room as those showers,” Joly says.

“The showers are the number one reason I dropped out of uni,” Bahorel says loudly.

“You didn't drop out, you were expelled, jackass,” Feuilly says. Bahorel punches him in the arm.

“I got myself expelled because the showers were crap,” he retorts.

“Showers aside,” Enjolras interrupts. “The school dormitories is severely lacking in standard, and if the school insist on prices being as steep as they are, it needs to be fixed!”

“There was no heating in the winter either,” Jehan says. “I almost got pneumonia.”

Joly crosses himself, scooting his chair a few inches away from Jehan.

“And now it's too hot,” Jehan continues. “Something about the ventilation being down.”

Enjolras looks at Jehan like he's the eighth wonder of the world.

“This is exactly what I'm talking about! We can all reminisce about how we remember the dorms were..” 

Courfeyrac scoffs. “We lived in dorms last year, Enjolras, it's not that long ago,” he says.

“...but Jehan is living there now, he can prove they are still unsatisfactory,” Enjolras continues as though nothing had been said.

“Jehan, you're the man!!” Bahorel says cheerfully, patting Jehan on the arm, nearly sending him to the floor. “Your misfortune will guarantee better housing for future students!”

Jehan smiles varily, blushing a little.

 

As the meeting goes on, Enjolras often turns to Jehan for details and fact-checking. At first it makes Jehan uncomfortable having everyones attention on him, but after a while he gets used to it. He's not used to people listening to him and taking him seriously, but when they do, he finds that he quite likes it. Courfeyrac's encouraging smiles helps a lot. 

Afterwards, Enjolras makes sure Jehan will be at the next meeting, urging him to make a list of what he's dissatisfied with in the dorms. Courfeyrac offers to help.

“Oh, you don't have to,” Jehan says hurriedly.

“Of course I do, you need a trained and experienced eye for this,” Courfeyrac says seriously. “I'll walk you home and we can get started right away.”

The thought of letting Courfeyrac into his room makes Jehan nervous. He hasn't bothered tidying his room in ages, and he's not used to having visitors. But he can't find it in himself to deny Courfeyrac anything. So Courfeyrac follows him back to the dorms, and as Jehan is unlocking the door, it's with the faint hope that he at least remembered to do the dishes before he left.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan and Courfeyrac are writing a semi-helpful list, and Courfeyrac tells the story of Les Amis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really going to hate myself in the morning for staying up this late, but I needed to finish this chapter. Damn my sense of obligation.

“It's a bit, uhm, messy,” Jehan says as he turns on the light. “I'm sorry about that.”

Courfeyrac just laughs. “I've lived with Grantaire, you haven't seen messy until you've lived with that slob.” He walks into Jehan's room with confidence, taking in his surroundings.

Jehan realises he hadn't remembered doing the dishes, they are still stacked in the sink as usual. Books are scattered on the floor, along with pieces of clothing and half-written poems. There are multicoloured fairy lights stuck over Jehan's bed, and a pink shawl hanging over the window as a makeshift curtain. The walls are covered in pictures and drawings, and there are flowers everywhere. Some had been pressed, framed, and hung on the wall, some were in vases on any available surface, and some were just lying around.

For a while, Courfeyrac doesn't say a word. Jehan is wringing his hands, waiting for a condescending comment about the messiness, the flowers, or the 'girly' colours.

“This is the greatest room I've ever seen!” Courfeyrac finally exclaims. “It's so you!”

Jehan looks at him. “Really?”

“Definitely. You've really made a home here. I couldn't even be bothered unpacking when I lived in the dorms, I was just waiting for the moment I could move out.”

“I figured if I was to stay here for a year I might as well make the most of it,” Jehan says while closing the door behind him. 

Courfeyrac looks at the pictures on the wall while Jehan picks up a discarded notebook from the floor. He gets a pen from his bag, and finds a page that hasn't been written on. When he looks at Courfeyrac, he notes that he's staring at a picture of a young man with a serious expression.

“Friend of yours?” Courfeyrac asks, pointing at the picture.

Jehan smiles. “Sort of. That's John Keats.”

Courfeyrac grins. “Right. The poet. Your favourite.”

“Yes,” Jehan says, wondering why Courfeyrac would remember that. “So.. That list?”

“Hm?” Courfeyrac isn't really paying attention, he's busying himself picking up sheets from the floor, reading them.

“We were supposed to make a list?” Jehan tries again.

“That's right,” Courfeyrac says absentmindedly. “Did you write this?”

Jehan looks at the sheet, blushing before he nods.

“It's really good.”

“It's not finished yet,” Jehan says, taking the sheet from Courfeyrac. Other people probably wouldn't just poke around someone's stuff like Courfeyrac did, but then again nothing is pointing towards Courfeyrac being like other people. The full realisation of having another person in his room, and that person being Courfeyrac suddenly hits Jehan, and he has to sit down to get his racing heart under control. Courfeyrac sits down next to him on the bed, much closer than he needs to.

He takes the notebook and pen from Jehan, and starts writing.

'Reasons why the school dormitories sucks majorly.'

“Enjolras is going to love the title,” Jehan says, laughing.

“Whatever, the dude needs to relax a little,” Courfeyrac says, writing a new line underneath.

'by Your Excellence Courfeyrac and Jean'

He pauses for a while.

“Prouvaire,” Jehan offers. Courfeyrac smiles at him.

“Your name sings poetry.”

'and Jean Prouvaire extraordinaire.'

 

During the next hour, they carefully write down every shortcoming of the dorms. From the terrible showers, the lack in heat and ventilation, that “weird mouldy spot” on the ceiling, the creaking doors, and windows that can't be opened properly, to the lack of a jacuzzi in the bathroom and the equal lack of a margarita fountain in the kitchen area. 

After a while they start trading memories and sharing worst experiences while living in the dorms. Courfeyrac wins hands down, and has Jehan in stitches with his worst experience. The list is lying on the floor, completely forgotten.

“You didn't realise something like that would happen if you let a badger into your room?” Jehan gasps between fits of laughter. Courfeyrac wipes a tear while clutching his stomach.

“No! I was thinking of all the money Bahorel would owe me if I did it, he didn't think I had it in me!”

Jehan is dizzy with laughter, and lies down out of sheer exhaustion. The initial shock of having Courfeyrac in his room has subsided, and now it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Jehan takes the flower out of his hair and puts it on the table next to the bed. His plait has slowly dissolved over the course of the evening, so he takes it out, and combs through his hair using his fingers. He is aware Courfeyrac is watching him intently, and he tries really hard not to blush. He fails, of course.

“Tell me about Les Amis,” Jehan says while putting his hair in a messy ponytail, not bothering to braid it again. Courfeyrac realises he's staring, and quickly looks out into the room.

“I met Enjolras and Combeferre a few years ago in school. Back when I was an ambitious young student hoping to pursue a degree in law like Enjolras.” He smiles at Jehan. “That was then. Turns out law is really boring, so I decided to major in theatre instead.”

Jehan remembers Courfeyrac mentioning an audition the first time they met.

“Enjolras kept going on about wanting to do something real to change the world, something more than just signing petitions and writing letters. He wanted action. You've heard him speak, it's hard to deny him anything as soon as he starts talking. But he's right, of course. The world could do with a few changes, and I want to do my part.”

Jehan smiles softly. Courfeyrac looks so invested as he's talking.

“Enjolras wanted to start a movement. That movement is now known as Les Amis de l'ABC, or Friends of the ABC. Joly and Bossuet were the first to join, because their girlfriend runs the cafe we used to frequent at the time. They overheard us talking one day, and wanted to take part.”

“Their girlfriend?” Jehan asks.

“Don't ask,” Courfeyrac chuckles. “Anyway, Feuilly joined because he too has a vision about a brighter future, and he is almost as invested in this as Enjolras. Bahorel stumbled over one of our more violent protests, and joined for the hell of it. Grantaire was a friend of Bahorel's and came with him to one of our meetings. He says he doesn't give a shit about the future or anything we're working towards, but he never misses a meeting. Other people stop by from time to time, but they never really stick, so mostly it has just been the eight of us.”

“Well, you're quite the group,” Jehan muses.

“Yeah, they're a great bunch of people. Crazy as they come, but they're all good at heart.”

Courfeyrac looks back at Jehan again. “What about you? Do you want to join our ragtag team of nutters hoping to change the world?”

Jehan looks at the ribbon he's been playing with, fidgeting slightly. “I don't know...” 

The truth is, he really wants to join. Not just because of Courfeyrac, although he's part of it. Jehan thinks the world is a scary place, and it needs to be softened. And he's not going to change anything by blushing and writing poetry, which seems to be the only skills he has. He just doesn't think he'll fit in. They're all so great, so bright. So much more than he is.

Courfeyrac nudges his leg. “You kind of have to now, you're Enjolras' trump card.”

“But that's just for this cause though, I probably won't have anything to bring to the next one.”

Courfeyrac looks at Jehan seriously. “I don't believe that for a second, Jehan. You have a lot to offer. And everyone liked you, you know.”

“I'm not sure I'll fit in,” Jehan mumbles, mostly to himself. He blushes again. Courfeyrac looks at him, incredulous this time.

“Have you not met us? Do we look like we fit in anywhere? We're all different.”

Jehan doesn't say anything, still refusing to meet Courfeyrac's eyes. Courfeyrac nudges him again.

“Jehan? Come one, you'd be a great addition!”

He finally looks up. “You think so?”

“Absolutely! So it's settled then, you're definitely joining.”

There is a feeling of warmth spreading in Jehan's stomach, and he can't help smiling.

“Okay,” he says. Courfeyrac whoops.

“Awesome!”

Jehan still doesn't think he's good enough for them, but when Courfeyrac is looking at him like that, with such a brilliant smile, how could he ever say no?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hideously long delay, I've been on holiday, and my family wouldn't accept "writing fanfiction" as a viable excuse for not spending time with them.

Over the next weeks Jehan shows up at every meeting. Everyone seems happy about the addition to the group. After a while Jehan even stops being afraid of Bahorel, whom he strikes up the oddest friendship with. It turns out Jehan has a lot of input and opinions that fits right into the group, and everyone accepts him. For the first time in his life, Jehan feels like he belongs somewhere, and for once he's completely happy.

However, as with every spring, exam season is rapidly approaching, and the meetings subsides as Enjolras holes himself up at the university library, having to be forcefully thrown out at closing time on more than one occasion. Jehan assumes he won't be seeing the group until after the exams, and is pleasantly surprised when Joly asks him to come study with them.

“But I'm not a law student,” Jehan says slowly.

“Neither am I,” Joly says. “We all still study together.”

Courfeyrac looks at Jehan confused. “Of course you're going to study with us,” he says matter-of-factly. “Only Enjolras and Combeferre study law, and we barely see them anyway. Enjolras is currently in a committed relationship with the library, and Combeferre thinks we distract him when he's reading.”

That last remark doesn't really surprise Jehan at all.

 

Most of them meet almost every day to study, a set-up that works really well for them, even though almost none of them are studying for the same courses.

This being Jehan's first year at university, he is intent on doing really well on his exams, something that results in a lot of late nights. He is usually the last one to leave the Musain, but on the night before Courfeyrac's first exam, Courfeyrac stays much later than usual. Joly had spent the evening reading about shingles, and had to leave early because he was convinced he had all the symptoms. Bossuet went with him to make sure Joly didn't check himself into a hospital again. Feuilly had blown off reading that night to go drinking with Bahorel, and Grantaire hadn't shown up at all. Jehan is pretty sure he's at the library, studying Enjolras as well as 20th Century Art. 

Jehan is analysing a poem he's certain will show up on his first exam, but finds it hard to concentrate over Courfeyrac's irritated mumbling on the other side of the table. If he hadn't found it so adorable, he would have been annoyed. 

“This is impossible!” Courfeyrac exclaims, slamming his book shut. “I'm never going to learn this!”

Jehan looks up from his book. “What are you reading?” he asks.

Courfeyrac sighs. “I have to perform a monologue tomorrow, and as usual I put off finding a piece until the night before. The professors are expecting me to know the text by heart, but it refuses to stick!”

“What did you end up picking?”

Courfeyrac looks sheepisly at Jehan. “I've chosen a poem.”

“Really?” Jehan asks amused. “I thought you said poetry was too 'wishy-washy' for you?”

“Well, I decided to give it a try. It was either that or Romeo and Juliet, and everyone and their mother is doing Romeo and Juliet.”

“Which poem?”

“It's called Bright Star.”

Jehan looks incredulously at him. “What? Keats?”

“I looked him up a few weeks ago, and some of his stuff isn't half bad,” Courfeyrac says, smiling crookedly.

Jehan can't believe it. Not only had Courfeyrac researched his favourite poet, he had actually chosen his all time favourite poem. The fluttering in his stomach returns, the same fluttering Jehan had tried his hardest to suppress since they first met. He is not going to fall in love with Courfeyrac, that would not end well. Poetry or no poetry, it is not going to end well.

But Jehan knows his brain will have no say in the matter.

“Oh,” is all he says.

“But I'm not going to be able to memorise it!” Courfeyrac huffs. Jehan smiles.

“Bright star, would I were as steadfast as thou art. Not in lone splendour hung aloft at night, and watching...”

As Jehan recites the poem word for word, Courfeyrac looks at him like he was John Keats, and Jehan was Fanny Brawne. Jehan can feel his heart swell. No one has ever looked at him that way before. 

After he finishes, Courfeyrac is silent for a minute before clearing his throat.

“Fine! You do the monologue for me then!” he says. Jehan laughs.

“It's not that hard,” he says.

“Tell that to this book,” Courfeyrac pouts.

“Maybe reading it over and over again isn't the way to do it,” Jehan tries. Suddenly Courfeyrac grins like the Cheshire cat.

“I know! You can teach me!”

“Come again?”

“Yeah, it'll be good practice for your exam!”

“Not really, I already know the poem, and besides, this exam is more...” Jehan starts, but Courfeyrac interrupts him by leaning over the table and grabbing both his arms.

“Pleeease? I have to know it by tomorrow, and at this rate I'm never going to learn it!” He sticks his lower lip out, making a pouty face Jehan could never resist. Jehan looks at his watch. It is already far too late. He should be getting back to his dorm. He should get some sleep. He should...

“Fine.” 

 

During the next two hours, Jehan and Courfeyrac goes over the poem about four hundred times. Courfeyrac manages to get through about two thirds of, only messing up the last three lines.

“Awake in a sweet unrest...”

“Awake for ever in a sweet unrest.”

“Aaaah! I'm never going to get it!” 

“You're doing fine. Stop pulling at your hair, it'll fall out,” Jehan laughs as Courfeyrac panics.

“I'm glad you're enjoying my misfortune, Prouvaire,” Courfeyrac hisses.

Jehan smiles tenderly at him.

“You'll do brilliantly tomorrow. Just go home and get some rest, and I promise you, you'll remember it perfectly.”

Courfeyrac sighs. “Yes. You're probably right.” He looks at Jehan, who's gathering his books and gets up to leave.

“Will you come tomorrow?”

“For what?”

“For the monologue.”

The request startles Jehan.

“Am I allowed?”

“Yes, of course. Well, technically no, but I need you there, I won't be able to do it without you!”

Jehan blushes. 

“When is it?”

Courfeyrac jumps at Jehan, hugging him tightly, and then grabs him by the shoulders. “You're the best! No, really, you are!”

Jehan tries to roll his eyes, but the gesture is lost in the genuine smile he sends Courfeyrac.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...yeah, ok, I have no excuse for the delay. I'm just lazy.

The next day, Jehan is sitting under his favourite tree in the campus park, which just so happens to be right next to the theatre building. He's revising one last time for his exam the next day, but his treacherous mind keeps wandering off, replaying yesterday's hug over and over again.

He looks at his watch. It's almost time. He gathers his stuff and heads off. He finds the room, quietly opens the door and slips inside. 

It is a large auditorium, thankfully set in a dramatic darkness, allowing Jehan to enter unnoticed. As he finds a seat somewhere in the back, a girl is on stage, reciting Juliet's balcony monologue. She stumbles over a few words and forgets the last lines. Jehan is nervous now, praying Courfeyrac will do well.

When the girl leaves the stage, there are some rustling of papers before the professor calls Courfeyrac onto the stage. He steps up, and Jehan can tell he's nervous. He has never seen Courfeyrac nervous before. Most of all he wants to run up and give him a hug. 

“So, mr. Courfeyrac. What have you chosen to perform today?” the professor ask in a bored voice of someone who has done this for far too long. 

“Uhm.. John Keats' Bright Star,” Courfeyrac says. His eyes scan the auditorium, and when he finds Jehan he visibly relaxes.

“Alright. Whenever you're ready.”

Courfeyrac smiles at the professor, and opens his mouth. But not before finding Jehan again, locking his stare at him.

He recites the poem perfectly, with all the right rises and falls in tone, and with the appropriate pauses. He never takes his eyes off Jehan. And as Jehan is watching him, he feels the inevitable happening. He's falling for Courfeyrac. It hits him like a train, with no possible escape. There is only so much a person can withstand, and a beautiful boy reciting Jehan's favourite poem while staring him down is not one of those things. He can no longer repress the feelings that has developed over the past weeks, and for once he doesn't even try. He gives in to it.

When Courfeyrac finishes, he smiles at Jehan before directing his attention to the professor again.

Jehan leaves the auditorium when the next person comes onto stage. He goes back to the tree and leans against it, closing his eyes. What the hell is he supposed to do now?

 

An hour later, Courfeyrac comes out of the theatre building. Jehan had gotten his books out again, but doesn't even pretend to study, his mind far too preoccupied.

Courfeyrac sees Jehan and comes over, grinning so hard it must be hurting his face.

“I passed! With flying colours! The professor said I have 'a future as bright as a star'.” He plops down next to Jehan. The girl who had performed before Courfeyrac passes them, visibly crying.

“I take it not everyone passed,” Jehan inquires, looking at the girl. Courfeyrac shakes his head sadly.

“Poor Sonia,” he says. “She was a wreck before we even started.”

“However, I believe congratulations are in order,” Jehan says, looking at Courfeyrac again.

“Dude, this was all you. I could not have done it had you not been there,” he says, suddenly serious. “I hope you know that.”

Jehan blushes furiously. “You would have done spectacularly either way,” he says.

“No, I wouldn't. Thank you so much for taking time to come watch me. I know you have an exam tomorrow.”

“If I don't know it by now, it's not worth knowing.” Courfeyrac laughs.

“Well then! How about we get something to eat and then go bother Enjolras? He's hilarious when he's stressed.”

Jehan shuts his book. His problems can wait.

“Sounds good.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After nearly three months of hiatus I have finally returned, ready to finish this fic. If anyone are still waiting for the ending, I profusely apologise for taking so long, I'm dreadful at writing at a steady pace. (Trust me, I've been scolding myself daily for not posting this sooner.)
> 
> I'm posting the last chapter as soon as I'm finished editing it, and it will be tonight.

That night, Jehan is unable to fall asleep. Every time he closes his eyes, he's greeted by visions of Courfeyrac at his exam. Beautiful, funny, kind Courfeyrac. Unable to stop smiling, unable to stop talking. He's everything Jehan is not. He's the first person who has accepted him unconditionally. 

But Jehan doesn't want to fall in love with him. Falling in love means opening up his heart to someone, and Jehan vowed a long time ago that he would never do that. And not to Courfeyrac, who seems interested in him now, but how long will that last? How long would it take until Courfeyrac inevitably breaks Jehan's heart? 

After several hours of fretful tossing and turning in bed, Jehan finally falls asleep, angry at the world for throwing Courfeyrac his way, angry at Courfeyrac for making him feel vulnerable. Jehan put iron walls around his heart a long time ago, and he does not want them torn down.

 

The exam goes well enough, considering Jehan only got about ninety minutes of sleep. Afterwards, he heads straight home, not even bothering to turn on his phone. He plops down on his bed, falling asleep fully dressed, exhausted. 

When he wakes up, it's dark outside, and someone is pounding on his door. He stumbles out of bed and unlocks it. Courfeyrac almost falls through the door when it opens, phone in hand and with a worried expression.

“Why aren't you answering your pho...Were you sleeping?” he asks, taking in Jehan's disheveled appearance.

“Come in,” Jehan says, closing the door. “I was, in fact.”

“Fully dressed?”

“Long day. Difficult exam.”

Jehan sits down on his bed, leaning against his bed, yawning. Courfeyrac follows him.

“How did it go?”

“Good.”

“What were the questions about?”

“Poetry,” Jehan retorts. He doesn't want to be rude, but it keeps happening. He's tired, and irritated, and he doesn't want to talk to Courfeyrac right now. Or ever. He wants to be alone. He wants... Jehan doesn't know what he wants. He just doesn't want this.

Courfeyrac looks at him. “Are you okay?”

“I'm brilliant,” Jehan says, yawning again.

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“I'm just tired.”

“Well... You should get some sleep.”

“That was my thought as well, but someone decided against that when they were trying to tear down my door.”

Courfeyrac gets up. “Alright. I can take a hint,” he snaps. 

Jehan rolls his eyes. “Good for you.”

Courfeyrac opens the door again. “Call me when you wake up and are more reasonable.”

Jehan doesn't answer, and Courfeyrac leaves.

“At least take off your shoes!” Courfeyrac shouts through the door. And then he's gone.

Jehan buries his head in his pillow and groans.

Perfect. He has ruined everything.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter, at last! It feels good to be finished with it, but it's also sad. Ah well, time to start new Les Mis-related projects!

When Jehan wakes up the next morning, it's with an ache in his chest. It takes him a moment to remember why, but when he does, the pain grows by a tenfold. 

“Why must I be so useless?” he groans out loud.

'Because you are, have always been, and will always be a disappointment to all those around you,' his father's voice echoes in his head. Jehan shivers, and gets out of bed. He has to talk to Courfeyrac.

Jehan dresses slowly, and heads over to the apartment Courfeyrac shares with Enjolras and Combeferre. When he knocks, Combeferre opens.

“Is Courfeyrac here?” Jehan asks.

Combeferre bids him in. “I think so. Haven't seen him though. Not unusual, of course, it's still before noon.”

Jehan, who has never been inside their apartment before, looks around helplessly.

“I wasn't... especially nice to him yesterday,” he finally says. Combeferre nods.

“That explains why he was in such a foul mood last night. It was impossible to talk to him. He wouldn't leave us alone until Enjolras threatened to set all his things on fire.” He jerks his head towards what Jehan initially assumed to be a pile of laundry, but which turns out to be Enjolras lying on the floor, asleep, face resting on an open book. 

“Enjolras threatened with arsony?” Jehan asks, momentarily distracted.

Combeferre shrugs, a fond smile tugging his lips. “It's exam season. He's stressed.”

Jehan sighs. “I didn't intend to be so mean to Courfeyrac, I don't know what happened,” he says unhappily. “I'm not usually like that.”

“Didn't think you were. Look, don't worry about Courfeyrac. He wears his emotions on his sleeve. He has probably forgotten all about it by now.”

Jehan doubts that. He wouldn't be surprised if Courfeyrac didn't want to see him ever again.

“Go talk to him,” Combeferre says, like he knows what Jehan was just thinking. He points down the hallway. “Last door on the right.”

Jehan nods, and walks down. When he reaches the door, he hesitates for a second, before knocking carefully.

“Go away Combeferre, I don't want to talk about it,” a muffled voice says through the door.

“It's me,” Jehan says quietly.

He hears some rustling, and the door opens. Courfeyrac looks like he hasn't had an ounce of sleep. His hair is sticking out at every angle, and his eyes are bloodshot. Still, in flannel trousers and a grey t-shirts, he is the most beautiful thing Jehan has seen. Jehan swallows.

“What are you doing here?” Courfeyrac asks, frowning.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Jehan says, looking at the floor. “Please, can I come in?”

Courfeyrac gestures inside, and Jehan walks in. The room is dark and stuffy, but it is a lot tidier than Jehan's room. His desk is overflowing with books and papers. On top of everything Jehan spots the sheet with Bright Star, and somewhere underneath the list they wrote weeks ago is barely visible. 

Before Courfeyrac has time to say anything, Jehan speaks.

“I'm sorry about yesterday. I don't know what happened. I was just tired and... I don't know. That was really mean of me.”

Courfeyrac shrugs, and sits down at the edge of his bed. Jehan sits down next to him.

“I'm just... going through some things,” Jehan continues.

“Well, if you'd let me in on said things, maybe I could help,” Courfeyrac says.

“I don't think so,” Jehan mutters. Courfeyrac scoffs.

“Jehan, I don't know much about you, but I've realised you're not used to sharing things about yourself, and that you're used to doing things on your own... But sometimes it helps to let other people in on what's happening. You don't have to do everything alone, you know!”

“Oh, I don't?” Jehan snaps back sarcastically. “Well, thank you, you divine creature, for bestowing your ancient wisdom upon my inferior being!”

“Why won't you let me help you?” Courfeyrac nearly shouts.

“Because there is nothing to be done, least of all by you,” Jehan shouts back.

“How can you know that for sure when you won't even tell me what it is??” 

“You really want to know? Fine! I am in love with you! There, fix that!”

Courfeyrac looks at Jehan, and for a moment Jehan thinks Courfeyrac is about to punch him. 

“Why didn't you just say that??” Courfeyrac shrieks. “I'm in love with you too!”

“I... What?” Jehan says, assuming he heard something wrong. Sleeping for eighteen hours can do the strangest things to ones hearing.

“You heard me,” Courfeyrac says, quieter now.

“I know what I heard,” Jehan says. “I just don't think it's the same thing as what you said.”

Courfeyrac scoffs again, before leaning towards Jehan and kisses him. 

“There, fix that,” Courfeyrac says. Jehan stares at Courfeyrac dumbfounded. 

“Yeah, but..” Jehan starts, but he's at a loss for words.

Courfeyrac straightens up again. “But what?” he asks.

Jehan gets up from the bed, pacing a couple of times back and forth to collect his thoughts. He stops in front of Courfeyrac.

“But it will never work,” he finally says.

Courfeyrac stands up. “Why?” he demands.

Jehan looks down. “I've seen you before we met, you know. At school. Always with a new person.” His voice has lowered to a whisper now. “You'll be bored of me within the week.”

“That's not true,” Courfeyrac says. “I would never..”

“How do you know?” Jehan challenges him. Courfeyrac just tosses his arms up.

“I don't know! Because you're different. I knew that from the moment I ran into you. I'd been lost for a while, and when I met you, I... I found myself.”

Courfeyrac cups Jehan's chin, making him look at him.

“Listen, I'm not guaranteeing a happily ever after, but I can honestly say that I am in love with you. And that is a first for me. Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith, and trust that there are people out there who won't hurt you. I'm one of those people. Please, let me prove that to you. Because I will never stop trying.”

Jehan has no idea how to respond to that. Courfeyrac is right, of course. He can't shut everyone out forever. At some point he'll have to let someone in. And he desperately wants that person to be Courfeyrac. In a single moment, everything becomes crystal clear. He wants Courfeyrac. He'll trust him not to break his heart. 

But if he does... It will still have been worth it. 

So he tugs Courfeyrac down, and kisses him with a ferocity he was unaware he possessed. 

 

At the other side of the apartment, Enjolras begrudgingly hands a smug Combeferre money, who's smiling in a very told-you-so manner.


End file.
